


Do You Ever Think of Me

by glorious_spoon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Multi, Past Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: “See, that’s what you guys get for hooking up with people who didn’t know what they were doing,” Stiles says, before the mood can get too maudlin. “My first time was fucking awesome.”“For you,” Derek interjects from across the room.*Or: Stiles and Derek have some history together, and Lydia is a mastermind.





	Do You Ever Think of Me

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for warnings.

Like most of the awkward moments in Stiles’s life, the entire thing is his own damn fault.

Okay, no, that’s a lie, he’s going to blame at least a quarter of this on Scott, who invited himself and Malia over to Stiles’s apartment for an impromptu post- _hurray-we-saved-the-world-yet-again-and-nobody-died_ party, and maybe like another ten percent on Derek, who decided to tag along and hang out like a functional adult instead of skulking off into the darkness to brood on the edge of a building like he’s Batman or something.

But really, most of it is Stiles’s fault. He’ll cop to that.

They end up sprawled around his tiny living room in a state of giddy loopiness that probably has a lot more to do with sleep deprivation and the euphoric high of not being dead than the whiskey they’ve been passing around. It only works on Stiles and Lydia, anyway, and Lydia’s elevated tastes will not descend to sampling the fifteen-dollar bottle of Old Crow that’s all he has in the cabinet. Stiles doesn’t have much in the way of standards when it comes to liquor, but he’s too tired to drink, content to flop out on the couch with his head in Lydia’s lap and her fingers scritching absently through his hair while the three weres drink all his booze.

So he can’t even blame it on the alcohol when the conversation stumbles sideways into awkward sexual experiences. Adrenaline and sex, it’s a thing, as everyone present apparently knows, and then Malia says brightly, “That was how my first time happened, actually. In the basement of Eichen House when we were trying to break out. Remember that, Stiles?”

“Vividly,” Stiles mumbles. Lydia makes an amused noise under her breath. “Thank you for sharing that with the entire class, would you like to rate my performance, too? That was a joke,” he adds hurriedly, looking up in time to see Malia open her mouth thoughtfully.

“I mean, it’s not like you were _bad_ ,” she says. “Not that I had a frame of reference at the time. You got better at it with practice. What?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans, putting both hands over his face. In the corner, Scott is cracking up. “Why. Why is this my life.”

“For the record, _I_ have no complaints about your performance,” Lydia says archly, and yeah, this is why he loves her. “All first times are awkward. The first time Jackson and I slept together was in his Porsche, and he accidentally cracked my head against the windshield. Nearly gave me a concussion.”

“First time I was with Allison, we dropped the condom and I fell off the bed trying to catch it,” Scott offers. He’s still grinning, but there’s a faint wistfulness in his voice.

“See, that’s what you guys get for hooking up with people who didn’t know what they were doing,” Stiles says, before the mood can get too maudlin. “My first time was fucking awesome.”

“For you,” Derek interjects from across the room. He’s leaning into the fridge, making disapproving noises at whatever he’s found in there. Probably three-week old takeout and moldy salsa, if Stiles’s memory serves him. “I think your milk is rotten. When’s the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“Stay out of my fridge,” Stiles tells him. “Also, hey, I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

“I was under the influence of a demonic _geas_ ,” Derek retorts, coming up with a beer bottle hooked between his fingers. “Doesn’t count.”

“So was I, and yeah, no, it definitely counted.”

“Uh,” Scott says, belatedly reminding Stiles that, oh right, they have an audience. “Was that the time with the succubus back in eleventh grade? When you were playing bait so we could finish the summoning circle?”

“...Maybe?” Stiles says.

“You said you guys lost her! You said, and I quote, ‘scary naked demon chicks are no match for my ninja-like driving skills’.”

“I lied,” Stiles says unrepentantly. “Obviously. Not about my driving skills, though. The Jeep stalled outside the Preserve.”

“So you…” Scott trails off, staring at Stiles, then at Derek, who rolls his eyes, pulls the cap off of his beer, and doesn’t say anything. “You two…”

“Wow,” Malia says, looking impressed.

“This level of shock is very unflattering, just so you know,” Stiles says, pointing back and forth between them. “Especially considering that the other option was literally death from pheromone overload. I’m not _that_ bad.”

Above him, Lydia laughs quietly and pushes her fingers back into his hair. She doesn’t, he realizes when he rolls his head to look up at her, look very surprised. Entertained as hell, but not surprised. So that’s interesting.

Of course, she’s Lydia, and she’s always fifteen steps ahead of everyone else. He should have realized she’d figure it all out at some point.

“Oh my god,” Scott says weakly. “I can’t believe I didn’t…”

“Smell it?” Stiles asks, grinning, because apparently they’re doing this awkward confessional thing five years too late, and yeah, it’s actually pretty fucking funny now. Not so much at the time. “We showered before we met back up with you.”

“Oh my god,” Scott says again. “ _That’s_ why you guys were so weird around each other afterwards.”

Derek snorts and goes back to sprawl on the empty couch with his beer. He sprawls very attractively, which is something Stiles can always appreciate, although it’s been a while since his appreciation of Derek’s decorative qualities has been tinged with the memory of his o-face. Which, for the record, also very attractive.

They _were_ weird afterward. Stupid weird, and with five years of hindsight Stiles can see that Derek was just as clueless as he was about how to handle it. Oh, the sex part, he definitely knew his way around that, but the rest of it, communication, relationships, _whatever_ …

They’ve all grown up a lot, he thinks. Go them.

“He was wracked with guilt,” he says out loud, beaming at Derek’s stupidly handsome face. “For deflowering my jailbait ass over the hood of the Jeep. Which was really hot, for the record.”

Scott chokes, and Lydia and Malia both start laughing.

“I regret the day I met you,” Derek sighs.

“I know,” Stiles says cheerfully. “But not so much that you wouldn’t save my life with your dick. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Derek is blushing under his beard, Stiles is almost completely sure of it even in the dim light. His ears are pink. Awesome. “I liked it better when you were too embarrassed to talk about it.”

“So for like, thirty seconds after the first round? Dude, you were the one who didn’t want anybody to know.”

“I never said that,” Derek protests.

Stiles points at him. “Don’t even.”

“The _first_ round?” Lydia asks, sounding interested. He looks up at her again. Her smile has taken on the wicked tilt that he absolutely adores, shades of the ruthless queen bee from high school who never saw a knife she didn’t want to twist. “Do tell.”

“Do _not_ tell,” Scott interrupts before Stiles can even open his mouth. “I’m already scarred for life.”

“Ouch.”

“And I’m never sitting in your Jeep again.”

“We didn’t do anything _inside_ the Jeep.” Derek coughs, and Stiles pauses, considering. “Okay, except for the—”

“Nope,” Scott says loudly, and claps his hands over his ears like a fucking five-year-old.

“This is a little hypocritical, considering that I got a blow-by-blow account of your sex life for _months_ after you started actually having one,” Stiles tells him.

“I didn’t tell you about Kira,” Scott protests, hands still over his ears. “I don’t tell you about Malia.”

“I already know what Malia is like in bed.” Stiles grins when she gives him a cheerful thumbs-up. The _best_ ex-girlfriend, seriously. Then he adds, thoughtfully, “Actually, dude, you’re the only person in this room that I haven’t slept with.”

“And it’s going to stay that way,” Scott says, with an expression of horror that’s such pure comedy gold that Stiles wishes he had his phone to record it for posterity.

“What, I think it would be hot,” Malia says, and Stiles almost chokes to death laughing.

* * *

Lydia comes up behind him when he’s in the kitchen, staring into the depths of the open cabinet that contains three boxes of cereal, an elderly package of ramen, and a bag of stale marshmallows and trying to remember what he was looking for. She slips her arms around his waist and rests her cheek between his shoulder blades. “Hmm. You smell good.”

“See, now I know you’re delusional,” Stiles says, smiling dopily at the bare shelf in front of him. It’s been years, and he still gets that fizzy little spark of disbelieving happiness every time she touches him. He’s pretty sure that’s never going to go away.

“Maybe I just like you.”

“Maybe,” he says, turning in her arms to drop a kiss onto her mouth. “Maybe you just have an unnatural attraction to my masculine odor.”

“That could be it,” she agrees, smiling, then glances at the living room, where everyone else is sacked out on various pieces of furniture in positions that would leave them with week-long backaches if they were human, and lowers her voice. “So, you and Derek…”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t figure it out, like, immediately afterward.”

“Not _immediately._ ” He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs. “It took me about a week. You’re not subtle.”

“I wasn’t really trying to be,” he admits.

Lydia grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I bet it _would_ be really hot.”

“It was,” Stiles says, then pauses, looking down at her. “Okay, wait, hang on a second, you’re saying… you’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?”

“I’m saying that I know how to share,” Lydia says archly. “And I’m saying that’s a show I wouldn’t mind seeing in person.”

“Oh my god.” He sags back against the counter, considering _that_ mental image. It’s a good one. A great one, in fact. It’s just too bad it’s never going to happen. “I’m pretty sure Derek is not going to go for that.”

“But you would,” Lydia says. It’s not a question, and there’s a slight smugness to the curve of her smile, like she knows something he doesn’t. Which, to be honest, she knows a _lot_ of things that he doesn’t, but in this context it’s a little worrying.

“Yeah, of course I would, are you kidding me?” He laughs breathlessly and shakes his head. “But Derek’s… it was one time— okay, three times, technically, but the point is, there were extenuating circumstances of the magical aphrodisiac roofie variety. I’m pretty sure he’s not actually, like, interested in me. I don’t even know if he likes guys normally.”

Okay, that last one he can probably answer, given that Derek was way too comfortable with the mechanics of having sex with another guy for that to have been the first time he did it. But the rest of the point still stands. He’s never gotten the impression that Derek is attracted to him, even after their tentative ceasefire started evolving into something like an actual friendship. As many times as he’s revisited the memory of Derek pressing him down and working him open with his fingers and cock, whispering rough and incoherent endearments in his ear when he came— that’s just him. The whole encounter might as well have been a particularly vivid wet dream for all the difference it made between them, at least once Derek got over his massive guilt complex.

“Hmm,” Lydia says, sounding unconvinced. “Well. Think about it.”

“Oh, believe me, I will.”

She laughs and pulls him down into a kiss, something warm and slick and promising in a way that would have Stiles hoisting her up onto the counter right then and there if it weren’t for the supernatural voyeurs dozing in the other room.

Like she’s thinking the same thing, Lydia pulls back, glances at the living room, and says, “We should probably see about getting them a cab. I’m pretty sure none of them is in a state to drive.”

“We could just let them sleep.”

“Or we could kick them out and I could ride you until you scream,” Lydia says sweetly. “Just as an alternate proposal.”

Stiles swallows. “I’ll call the cab.”

* * *

Lydia shakes first Malia, then Scott gently awake, and Stiles listens to their groggy soft noises as he recites his street address on the phone. Derek is the only one who doesn’t sound three-quarters of the way asleep. Stiles would attribute that to Derek’s freaky supernatural survivalist tendencies if it weren’t for the way Derek is watching him through hooded gray-green eyes, strangely focused.

They stumble down to the lobby, end up perched on the poured-concrete steps in the hazy stillness of one AM. Scott and Malia are tilted together, drowsy and affectionate, murmuring to each other in low voices that Stiles can’t quite hear, while Lydia slips back inside to chat with the night watchman.

Stiles ends up leaned against the brick wall next to Derek, contemplating the flickering sign above the gas station across the street. Derek is clearly working up to something, and Stiles has learned a little bit of patience in the last few years; he’ll get to it sooner or later.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says eventually, and Stiles looks over at him, surprised.

“What for?”

“The whole…” Derek makes a vague motion, his ears going pink again. “Thing. With the succubus.”

“You mean the ‘nailing me on the hood of my Jeep in broad daylight’ thing? That thing?” Stiles asks, and grins when Derek sighs. “Dude, as we’ve already established, it’s a fond memory. Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I was an asshole about it afterward.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles says, because yeah, Derek kind of was a complete asshole about it afterward, but he’s been over that for a long time. Derek was an asshole about a lot of things back then. “You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks,” Derek says, his mouth curling into a dry little half-smile that’s, yeah, still charming as hell. “I was, you know.”

“You were what?”

“Interested,” Derek says, and looks away. “I wouldn’t have done anything about it, but…”

“Huh,” Stiles says, after a moment. “That actually explains a lot.”

Derek huffs out a breath of laughter. “Yeah.”

“What about now?”

“What?”

“You were listening in on me and Lydia, right,” Stiles says. It’s not a question. He can see Lydia watching them through the plate-glass window, the curve of her smile knowing. His beautiful, scheming mastermind. She must have known that Derek was awake. She planned this whole thing.

“Yeah,” Derek admits eventually. “I heard you.”

“So, thoughts? I mean, you were interested in me back then, but—” He breaks off when Derek meets his eyes. There’s a heat there that probably shouldn’t be as unexpected as it is. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Derek says again, quiet and rough. “The answer is yes. I would be interested.” He glances at Lydia through the window, and she lifts a hand and waves, her smile growing wider. “In both of you, if that’s on the table.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and then he has to stop and blink for several moments at the mental image that conjures up. “Okay, wow. Yeah. This is a plan, we’re totally doing this.”

Derek’s grin is sudden, sharp, and fucking gorgeous in a way that he usually doesn’t allow himself to notice. He’s pretty sure he’s allowed now, though. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Stiles licks his lips, sees Derek’s gaze drop to his mouth, and he’s swaying forward like he’s pulled on an invisible thread—

“Oh my _god_ , you guys,” Scott groans from the other side of the step. Stiles jerks back, blushing furiously. “You realize I can hear all of this, right? We both can.”

“ _I_ don’t mind,” Malia interjects, without lifting her head from Scott’s shoulder. “It’s about time you guys figured your shit out.”

“Okay, but maybe they could wait until— oh, thank god,” Scott says fervently, as headlights sweep across the building and the cab pulls up to the curb. Stiles lets out a snort of laughter without even meaning to, and then he makes the mistake of meeting Derek’s eyes, and all of a sudden they’re both cracking up. He collapses against the wall, close enough to Derek that he can feel the heat of his body, and laughs until his belly hurts.

* * *

“So, you’re staying, right?” Lydia says, slipping silently up on Derek’s other side as the cab pulls away from the curb. “You’re not just avoiding a cab ride with the two lovebirds?”

Derek drops his chin, looking oddly self-conscious. “You want me to?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Stiles says. “I feel like we just had an entire conversation about you, us, threesomes, the hotness thereof—I wasn’t hallucinating that, was I? I’m pretty sure I’m not that sleep-deprived.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “But are you sure? You guys have a good thing going, I don’t want to—”

“What, ruin it with your dick?” Stiles asks. Derek gives him an exasperated look, but at least he’s not looking weird and cautious anymore. “You’re not going to. We’re good, we’re _solid_ , this isn’t going to ruin anything, it’ll make it better, it’ll— Lydia, help me out here.”

“Stop talking,” Lydia tells him, and then her hand is on Derek’s bearded cheek, turning his face toward her. “Derek, you’re not going to break us. Either of us.”

Her hand slips back into his hair, and she pulls him down into a kiss. A real kiss, nothing tentative about it, and Stiles can actually see the moment when Derek gives up and decides to just go with it, his body relaxing, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her close.

Even after all this, he’s half-expecting a spark of jealousy— or hell, more than a spark— but it’s definitely not jealousy that’s threading a slow heat down to the pit of his belly. They look good together. They look great together, Derek’s big hand spread across Lydia’s back, the curl of her body against him, and yeah, okay, this was an _awesome_ idea.

When they finally break apart, Lydia is blushing a little, but she pats Derek on the cheek and arches her eyebrows at Stiles, looking supremely, magnificently pleased with herself.

“Okay?” she says, like she’s just delivered a devastating summation at debate— which, yeah, maybe she has— and Derek laughs softly, ducks his head, and nods.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Stiles?”

“I really hope that’s my cue to jump on you, because I really don’t have the patience to—” he has to stop talking then, because Derek is kissing him. Hands cupping his cheeks and his mouth hot and slick, half-remembered in the best ways, and Stiles flails for a half-second before his hands land on Derek’s waist. He digs his fingers in, dragging Derek in until they’re flush against each other, and is rewarded by a soft, choked-off noise that he’s going to be smug about for approximately forever.

“We should,” Derek murmurs eventually, “probably take this upstairs. Before we all get arrested for public indecency.”

“You are just full of good ideas tonight,” Stiles says, and kisses him again. Then pulls back, because yeah, public indecency is exactly where they’re headed at full tilt if they don’t stop now, and he’s already got a few too many hard-to-explain arrests on his record. That, and a bed seems like a really good idea right now. “Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are references to a sexual encounter that happened between Stiles and Derek years ago; Stiles was underage at the time and they were both under the influence of an enchantment. Stiles does not view this as a traumatic experience, and while Derek still carries some guilt about it, neither does he.


End file.
